There is the quintessential image of Death in the western world.
A shadowy figure, draped in a black cloak, face obscured by a hood,
holding a scythe in a skeletal hand.
Moving fluidly without a visible means of propulsion.
Then, there was the moment we met.
What do I remember of the moments before that meeting, you ask?
Laughter and amazement.
Wind
Waterfalls flowing up into the sky.
with pictures to prove it.
Watching a young woman, in a parking lot, barely able to control her car door, taken to the edge of being thrown to the ground as it is almost torn off its hinges by the wind.
And then, sometime later,
fragmented images, chaotic sounds, voices exclaiming, sudden quiet.
The relentless howling of the wind.
Something in my soul giving in to the moment,
I don’t know, there is nothing to be done.
I am being taken somewhere.
Darkness.
I have a fantastical memory, of spinning in that darkness, slowly, objects swirling. The sounds of metal bending, crunching, and breaking, glass shattering, exploding into Icelandic diamonds cascading everywhere.
That darkness shimmering with their iridescence.
Bodies restrained, still ragdoll shaken by some angry unseen dog.
Wind, cold rain and sleet suddenly mixing into the swirl.
Everything moving so slowly, tumbling, and shaking.
In the midst of that, as it all swirled so slowly as if time was frozen, in that stark place. The sonorous music of the howling wind impressed in my brain.
It is in that moment, I can see the figure of death, moving to each of us,
looking though our eyes to peer into our hearts and souls.
Weighing each of our hearts against the feather of Truth.
The realization that, for each of us, it is not yet that time.
Individually, each of our lives mostly in harmony, enough.
And death still looked closely at each of us.
Slowly shaking its head, no, it is not yet the time for you.
You still have work to do.
And then, slowly moving to evaluate the next one.
Cascading iridescence, sparkling, metal grinding, our world spinning and turning.
Until the Quiet. The moment when everything became still.
Even the wind seemed to quiet for that moment.
No, it was not the end, perhaps it was the Quiet heralding the beginning.